


Adaptation

by Incongruence



Category: Star Wars
Genre: Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Flirting, M/M, Pining, Porn with minimal Plot, Rimming, Somnophilia, sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 11:37:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14377836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incongruence/pseuds/Incongruence
Summary: Han had gotten by most of his life because of his adaptability. It wasn't until the Empire fell and he was pushed into a diplomatic role that he lost that part of himself.Maybe that's why he struggles so much when Luke returns after a six month absence to recruit him. Or maybe it's the newfound love of teasing that Luke's brought back with him after his travels.





	Adaptation

**Author's Note:**

> HAHAHA OH BOY!!!
> 
> I've been working on two longer pieces so I just wanted to take a break from them and write a quick PWP, except that I literally cannot write porn unless there's a gratuitous amount of exposition before it so what was supposed to be like 2,000 words is now 10. 
> 
>  
> 
> Anway just to preface: this isn't real life, so just a reminder to always seek verbal consent in engagements bc fantasy =/= reality.

Han Solo is nothing if not adaptable.

Sure, he’ll gripe and groan whenever something changes that he doesn’t like, but he’ll still improvise and overcome if the need arises. It’s not like he would have lasted anywhere near as long as he has if that wasn’t one of his skills. A smuggling, spacefaring life isn’t for the faint of heart or those bound by rigid structural existences. One has to toe the line between malleability and certainty in the self. Han’s perfected it by now. It’s why he’s survived every reckless skirmish and years of service to the Rebellion.

It’s why he doesn’t do so well after the fall of the Empire.

He tries at first, of course. A proven track record during a few sets of key battles is the only experience he needs to land a diplomatic position in the New Republic. That and being the arm candy of Leia Organa, of course. After the Battle of Jakku, they start dismantling the Rebellion’s army, meaning Han goes from the front lines to behind the lines fast enough to give him whiplash. Then he’s all but chained to Coruscant. The confines of his office feel like a prison wall. Han’s nothing if not adaptable, but it becomes clear pretty quickly that the sentiment is only true if there’s something to _adapt to_.

It gets lonely, too. Luke left almost immediately after the Battle of Jakku. Spent two days on Coruscant rooting through the sunken remains of the Jedi Temple before he and Artoo hauled ass in their x-wing. Chewie’s been granted extended leave, too. Back to Kashyyyk to spend much needed time with his mate and cubs. Han misses him sorely, but it’d be selfish to keep him around. Chewie wasn’t built for desk work or a planet of skyscrapers any more than Han.

The months drag on. It’s all politics. Han doesn’t have the self restraint to do well. He argues too much, lets his temper get the best of him. He sees the way his behavior affects Leia but he can’t stop himself. He feels unmoored, despite Coruscant’s permanent fixture in his life. At night he looks up at the sky—devoid of stars because of how much damn _light_ there is over every square inch of this planet—and dwells on the past. He misses his freedom, even if it was always tainted by uncertainty. At least it didn’t _feel_ like waiting to die.

He thinks about Luke, too, out among the stars somewhere in the quietest and most desolate reaches of the galaxy. Han wishes he knew where Luke was, that he was okay. It’s been nothing but comm silence for six months. For all they know he could be dead. But Luke had left with express instructions not to look for him. _”I have to learn everything I can about the Force.”_ He’d said with that same dead-eyed control that had taken over him since Han woken from his carbonite freeze. And that had been it. Han had forced him into a hug—impassionate compared to the ones they’d once shared. Then Luke had pressed a kiss to Leia’s cheek, climbed into his x-wing, and disappeared into the atmosphere.

Han’s been floating through life since then. Lando’s come to visit between projects a few times and he’s brought it up. Han can’t stand the pitying look in his eyes. ‘ _Laugh it up,’_ He thinks. ‘ _Look what I’ve become._ ’ It’s not that he’s mad at Lando, or even jealous. Han’s never been entrepreneurial. Even that is like its own type of tether. But Gods, it’d be nice to get to travel around for something more than diplomacy and ceremony.

All of it weighs down on Han until the pillars holding him up crumble one by one. His relationship with Leia is the first thing to fail, though when it finally does, both of them saw it coming. In fact, it’s been propagating for so long that by the time it finally boils over the two of them are almost relieved in its wake. It isn’t exactly easy. It’s letting something that’s been a big part of his life in the past year-and-a-half go (though with everything that’s happened it feels like a lifetime). Despite it, he feels at least some weight off his shoulders afterwards.

It takes another month or so for them to patch it up enough to be friends again. They’re both volatile people, so their uncoupling was just as heated. Now that they’ve both had time to cool off they’ve fallen into a friendship that’s almost as easy as the one Han had with Luke. It’s almost better this way—without the weight of expectations. Lando comes back to the two of them separated but more at ease with each other than he’d ever seen. His reaction says it all. Han can’t help but laugh at the eyebrow that shoots nearly into Lando’s hairline.

Of course, things aren’t perfect and rosy forever. Eventually he flunks out of his position with the New Republic, too. He knows he got a lot more leeway because of his tenure in the Rebellion and his relationship with Leia. He’d have kicked _himself_ out long before. But his performance becomes untenable and they cut him loose with a lot of trepidation and awkwardness. That in itself is freeing, too, but also scary. Han doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to do now. He spends his first month of freedom stirring up trouble in bars, and then starts outright sulking by the second. He knows he should probably get back in the Falcon and at least go to Corellia, maybe see how Wedge is doing on cleaning up the mess the Empire left. But he can’t bring it in himself to get back on his damn ship. Not with the ghost of Luke’s laugh still clinging to the walls.

That’s one thing that hasn’t changed. Well, maybe changed isn’t the right word. It’s evolved over the years, for certain, but ever since Han first laid eyes on Luke it’s existed in one shape or another. Sure, in those early days it was shallow. Nothing but base lust and the thirst for conquest. The lack of depth what let him cut and run so easily. But it hadn’t been just that after all. Han didn’t stick his neck out over lust. Hells, he didn’t stick his neck out for anyone. When he’d held Luke back within Massassi base, celebratory cheering and pumping adrenaline baring down on them from all sides, he felt something else. Desire, yes, but underneath it something foreign and thrilling and frightening. Han should have recognized it, cut his losses and gotten out before it could spiral out of control. But it was new and unfamiliar and he hadn’t a clue.

So it had started out simply enough, but sometime between the evacuation of Massassi Base and the attack on Hoth, Han’s simple crush became decidedly less simple. It took till the evening Luke hadn’t returned from patrol for Han to realize exactly what happened. He’d fallen in love. That stupid thing Han thought was reserved only for crooning singers and holodramas had happened to him, and he was ready to risk life and limb to sate it.

Of course, Luke had never shown any inkling of reciprocation. He maintained the easy going friendliness with Han that they’d started up from the get go. They butt heads, joked around, had earnest open conversations, even, but Luke had never _looked_ at Han the way Han knew he looked at Luke. Besides, if the way Luke would grow shy around Leia were any indication, it wasn’t Han he had eyes for. Han knew what he felt for Luke had been terrifyingly real, then, because instead of cutting off their friendship—which was something he’d always done if the objects of his affections didn’t reciprocate—he clung to it. 

Because to Han, Luke’s companionship was _enough_.

But there had been a petty part of him, too, and that part had latched onto Leia. Leia _did_ look at him the way he looked at Luke, for all that she tried to hide it. So Han had thrown all his chips in. And it hadn’t been a bad conciliation. She had the same fiery temperament as Luke, though she wasn’t quite as soft ‘round the edges as he was. And she was undeniably beautiful, too. She’d kept Han in check and managed to pull some sort of love out of him. Different from the torch he carried for Luke, but still worth nurturing.

Han had never gotten to see what Luke thought of the two of them, because by then he’d lost six months to the darkness of carbonite and when he’d come out Luke was no one he recognized. Whatever he’d thought of Han and Leia’s relationship had been hidden behind a mask of composure and resignation. There were still the flickers of softness and caring within him, but they were barely perceptible, gone as quickly as they appeared. Han counted it as a horrible loss, and began to harbour a disdain for Ben and this other mentor who had caused Luke to become a husk of what he’d once been.

Sadly, in spite of it all, Han’s love didn’t wane. It softened from the raging inferno it had been within the confines of Echo Base into a steady but enduring flame that persisted with all the warmth and security of a hearth. He held it close, stoked it with memories of Luke: of his laugh, the way his eyes would crinkle, his pointed teeth beneath the ridge of his lip. Han clung to them, because now, in his life of uncertainty, they were the only anchor he seemed to have.

So of course after two months of pickling himself, picking fights and disappointed looks from Leia over brunch, Han was completely and totally unprepared for Luke’s arrival on Coruscant.

Naturally, Luke didn’t comm ahead. He just showed up. Han was sleeping off a headache after a raucous night in some of the worst sub levels when his commlink started pitching up a racket. It took him a solid minute to get up, by which point it’d grown silent again. When he called Leia back, he had some ornery words prepared, but they died in his throat when Luke’s soft, questioning voice answered.

“Han?”

It hurt, that soft intonation. Han felt his whole stomach clench.

“Han? Are you there?”

“Yeah.” Han said. “I’m here.”

In his mind's eye Han could see the relieved smile on Luke’s face. Just a small quirk at the corner of his mouth. His blood leapt.

“I’m glad. Listen, I’m at Leia’s, but she has to get back to work in an hour. Would you like to meet up?”

Han didn’t even let himself think on it. The words sprang out too eagerly.

“Yes.” He said. “Where should I meet you?”

“I’ll pick you up.” Luke said. “See you in an hour."

Han had rushed himself through the shower, cleaned up his place as best he could, and sat with an eye on the door while he waited, vibrating with energy. Luke buzzed in almost exactly an hour later and Han’s hand had trembled as he hit the door release.

Luke was changed. His hair had grown out again, fringe sweeping softly over his brows and curling around his ears. His face still held some of the wear Han remembered after Endor, but the grim line of his mouth was gone, replaced by an easy smile. His eyes danced as he drew Han into a hug.

“Han!” He said. “I’ve missed you!" The most emotion Han had heard from him since they’d parted on Hoth. He let both his hands come up to press Luke closer to his body.

“Me, too, kid. It’s been a while, huh?”

They’d spent the rest of the day catching up. Luke told Han about all the remote planets he’d visited, the strange things he’d found while searching out the secrets of the Force and traces of the Jedi. Han watched him intently, drinking it all up. Undoubtedly, Luke would be gone again for another long stretch, so he committed as much as he could to memory before the chance would escape him. But for all the familiarities, it was new, too. Luke had changed again, thawed out from what he’d been when he left Coruscant. Bits and pieces of the Luke he remembered from their early years had crept back. He still carried himself with an poise and regality that echoed what Han had heard of the Jedi, but Luke also laughed and smiled and joked freely, but it was all underlain with an easygoing confidence that spoke of maturity. Han’s heart sang, blood humming in his veins as they walked through one of the busy plazas, repopulated and rebuilt. It continued to sing over dinner and drinks and right up until Luke had dropped him back off at his doorstep.

Han had expected the night to end there, for Luke to bid him goodbye and then be back off in his x-wing to who-knew-where for hell-knows-how-long. Except that it hadn’t happened that way. Luke and stood in front of the door awkwardly, humming with a nervous sort of tension that he couldn’t keep off his face, and then finally asked Han a question that Han didn’t know he’d been waiting to hear.

“So, now that you’re not with the New Republic anymore—“ He started, then shifted just as quickly. “I just, I came back to Coruscant because I needed a break. I had a bit of a dangerous brush and—well, it made me realize I could use a bit of help on my travels.”

Han didn’t say anything, just kept staring.

“I guess what I’m saying is, if you’re not too busy, would you come with me?”

It was the easiest thing Han had ever done, saying yes.

 

Han shakes himself out of the past. It’s easy to dwell on it during the downtime. Not that there’s a lot of it. They’ve been traveling like mad men the last two months, never staying in any one place for too long. They’ve stopped back at Coruscant once at Han’s behest (he suspects Luke would have gone another year if not convinced) and again to Kashyyyk for a few days to visit Chewie. Otherwise most of their time has been spent in the more remote reaches of the galaxy. Han’s waded through more marshland, been bitten by more insects, and sustained more minor injuries than he has at any other point in his life.

Despite the nuisances, Han can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.

Luke’s headstrong. He throws himself right into the work with aplomb. He’s always had that same drive to do everything he can, and now that it’s been so finely focused it really shines on him. Han doesn’t doubt that if it weren’t for him, Luke would be pushing himself past the brink of physical exhaustion. As it stands, Han’s presence is sort of leveling. Luke still pushes himself, but he takes breaks and remembers to eat and drink because Han doesn’t have that Jedi resolve and has to address his human needs. He helps out too. There’s a surprising amount of physical labor involved with rudimentary excavation of ancient sites. It goes faster with two bodies. Though sometimes, when Luke shucks his tunic off to work in his undershirt, Han slows. He’s only human, after all.

There’s one particularly bad case where Luke’s halfway down a shaft of some sort, maybe from a large, boring worm, or natural vent, or an abandoned mine entrance. It’s about five feet in diameter, but how far down it goes is impossible to tell. Whatever it is, there’s some kind of glowing carving about fifteen feet down and Luke has to ease himself into the shaft by pushing out with his legs and arms. There’s hot air spewing up from it, maybe from a thermal vent further down in the cavern it likely connects to. It’s not scaldingly hot, but it is hot enough to make things uncomfortable. Luke only gets about halfway down before he scrambles back up, sweat beading on his brow and upper lip. He keeps himself upright inside the tunnel with his legs pushing out at the sides and tears off both his tunic and undershirt, bare torso tensed and rippling with the effort. Han knows his mouth’s dropped into a little ‘o’, and he has to shake his head clear when Luke starts descending again. Han's supposed to hold the glowtorch downward, but at an angle, so Luke can keep track of his footholds on the wall. He manages to do so without dropping it or causing Luke to fall to his probable-death, so he’ll count that as a win. Less impressive is the amount of effort it takes not to stare at the dimples of Luke’s low back. The line of his spine curls downward like a trail of temptation. Han can’t help it when his eyes finally sweep down its length, settling on the swell of Luke’s rear beneath his tight pants. 

Granted, it’s a lot harder to reel it in now than it was before Luke had gone off, because one of the changes Luke seems to have undergone in his time away is affecting Han. Sure, Luke had come returned with some of his good humors and easy going friendliness back. Those things aren’t new or difficult. It’s Luke’s newfound fondness of _flirting_ that Han is struggling with.

The first time he does it, Han brushes it off as banter. Luke grew up on an Outer Rim planet full of ornery people with zero social skills. It would make sense that their harmless ribbing might veer out of the territory of ‘friends’ and into ‘this might not mean what you think it means’. 

The third time it happens, Han realizes it’s not so innocent because Luke follows it up with a _look_ that should be illegal in at _least_ half the systems of the known galaxy. He’s giving Han this salacious half smile and gazing up at him through his thick lashes. It’s an expression that Han has seen many times, in dingy cantinas and pleasure houses. It is not an expression to be used between friends, though he’s imagined it trained on him enough. It’s featured in many of his fantasies, of taking and being taken by Luke in every conceivable configuration. He struggles to keep the thoughts at bay now, and it takes all of Han’s self control to clear his throat and dismiss Luke. A difficult task when all he wants to do is shove him against the bulkheads and kiss that smirk off his lips.

It’s not just words, either. Luke’s far more physical about it, too. On one of their hyperspace jumps, when Han is halfway into one of the side panels doing important _work_ , Luke walks by behind him and actually has the gall to _slap_ Han’s ass. And sure, he’d been bent over in a way which invited such teasing, because that’s what happens sometimes during repairs. But it’s both so out of character and so unexpected that Han startles enough to slam his head on one of the interior vents. So now he’s got a bruise on his head and an interested dick and Luke’s laughter follows him as he walks deeper into the ship.

It’s easy to wave it off because it’s not just aimed at Han. For Luke, it’s just a fun game. Maybe while he was on his near-year flying solo around the galaxy he’d had some sort of sexual awakening. Either way, he isn’t the same boy Han remembers blushing when Leia would touch him. No, he’s confident now, and not just in a petulant way. If Han doubted it before, he doesn’t now. They’re in a cantina during a stopover on Bestine. It’s the first time they’ve grabbed a drink together since their reunion on Coruscant and neither of them have held back much. When they’ve polished off their third round Luke offers to get the next one and Han watches as he walks over to the bar. He’s wearing a black tunic and those tight black trousers that make him look even more slender and graceful than usual. It’s meant more than a handful of eyeballs are trained on Luke any time he gets up. His trip to the bar is no exception. 

Han grabs his near empty glass and drains it, keeping it in his hand so he can clatter the ice around as a distraction. Luke’s looked absolutely ravishing all night, features sharp in the dim light, and Han’s poor sensibilities are starting to fray. This never used to be a problem. How’s Han supposed to keep his base desires in check when Luke’s found the most effective possible way to provoke him? The worst part is that Han doesn’t even have a good reason to tell Luke to stop without outing himself. Instead he has to endure the relentless teasing and try to give back as good as he gets. Which he doesn’t. For once in his damn life, he doesn’t.

Luke’s at the counter, putting most of his weight on his arms and leaning over to talk to the pretty Twi’lek bartender. She seems to like whatever Luke says because she gives him a seductive smile and leans into him to respond. They keep up their conversation while she mixes their drinks, and when Luke tries to press his credit chit into her hand she waves him off. Han watches Luke bite his lip and say something and then he’s walking back over and Han is pretending like the half-melted ice ball in his glass is the most interesting thing in the Inner-Rim.

Luke doesn’t bring up talking to the barmaid. Neither does Han. The rest of the evening he watches Luke closely and lets himself pretend like the flirtatious banter has any bite to it. When the hour turns late, Han half expects Luke to tell Han to go back to their lodgings for the night and seek out the Twi'lek. He doesn’t. Luke lets out a dramatic yawn. 

“We should probably turn in.” He says. He’s rubbing the corner of his eye with his hand and Han’s brought distinctly back to those early days when Luke was fresh off Tatooine. It’s _adorable_. They walk back to their lodgings in the tepid night air, both a bit drunk but tired and happy. Luke keeps bumping into Han like he can’t keep his footfalls straight. Eventually, Han lets himself have just the one thing. He throws his arm around Luke’s shoulders and walks him home like that. If he savors the feeling of Luke’s small, warm body pressed against his he tries not to feel _too_ guilty about it.

Of course, their time spent in civilization is usually short. Before Han knows it they’re back on some depressing, uninhabitable, backwater planet with insects bigger than his palm. Luke’s cutting down impregnable foliage with his lightsaber, but looks downright miserable to be having to take down the native flora at all. Han doesn’t mind seeing it go because the last vine he touched left a big red welt on his arm and it burns something _fierce_. They’ve already had one run in with the aggressive wildlife, so he’s clutching his pistol a little tighter. Luke can sense pretty much everything through the Force before it becomes a real problem, but Han feels better knowing he’s watching Luke’s six anyway. Eventually they find what they’re looking for, but what’s left of it is barely salvageable. Another site the Empire got to first.

They camp nearby that night because the Falcon is a good three hour walk away and it’s not exactly the kind of planet you stumble around on at night. They eat rations and chat around the fire. Luke finally gets the nerve to prod about why Han and Leia had broken up—which Han had suspected he’d been curious about for a while. Han doesn’t go into too much detail, but he does admit that things just didn’t feel right between them anymore. Luke considers the answer thoughtfully. 

“So you’re back on the prowl, then?” He asks.

“I wouldn’t say that.” Han scoffs. He gestures dramatically to the thick trees surrounding them. “Not like there’s a lot of people to meet out on these backwater planets.”

“But if you had the opportunity?”

“Sure, I guess. If the right person came along.”

Luke holds his gaze, eyes bright in the firelight. He looks downright mischievous.

“And what’s the right person like?” He asks.

Han doesn’t know how to answer the question without saying ‘ _you_ ’ so he screws up his face like he’s thinking and tries to rattle off a few vague-enough traits.

“I dunno. Definitely shorter ’n me. Not afraid of danger. And they have to be sort of a firecracker, y’know? If we don’t butt heads it’s not worthwhile. But on the inside they have to be soft. I like when there’s sides of them that not everyone gets to see.” Han says. A moment of silence stretches on awkwardly. He flushes. “Uh, what about you? What does the famous Jedi Skywalker look for in a partner?”

Luke looks at the campfire and lets a lazy grin stretch over his face. Han unscrews the top of his canteen to take a sip. His mouth has felt dry since the topic of conversation started.

“A keen adventurer, certainly.” Luke says, and his gaze is distant. It makes it look like he has someone specific in mind while he’s speaking. “Stubborn, but in a way that’s mostly for show. They’d have to be pretty handsome too, I think. At least, to me.” Luke bites his lip. “And experienced—to better coax out that _inner softness_ ”

Whatever answer Han was expecting, it isn’t _that_. The innuendo is clear enough. As soon as the words are out of Luke’s mouth, and the extraordinarily graphic image they conjure vivid in his mind, Han chokes on his water mid-sip. He’d be embarrassed but he’s thankful nearly suffocating seems to cut through the charged air. Nothing can dispel tension faster than having your friend hit you on the back while you try to expel the liquid from your lungs.

 

Most of what they find is destroyed beyond usefulness, at least as far as old Jedi fixtures go. They’ve had better luck with some of the Force sensitive societies that flew under the radar, whether they’re flesh and blood or only represented by aged ruins. Luke learns a lot. Han watches his confidence grow with every new thing he masters. It even grows when he fails. It’s easy to see how Luke came out of that rigid Jedi shell after travelling. The people they meet are all so different, but so open and hospitable. Even the ones who are hesitant to teach Luke anything about their ways within the Force are, at the very least, friendly and willing to break bread with them. Han finds himself pretty happy about the whole thing, too. He hasn’t had the opportunity for _travel_ since he was Luke’s age. It makes him feel young again.

After a couple of weeks stuck out in the really crappy wilderness, they luck out with their next locale. Bimmiel’s mostly out of the way, but it’s the first planet since Bestine that’s up to galactic living standards. In fact, the capital city is quite beautiful. The architecture is bright white and carpeted with lush greenery, which makes sense because it’s a garden planet. They’re here to explore some ruins about two hours outside of the city. It means they get to rent actual rooms and sleep in real beds instead of roughing it in tents or sleeping on the Falcon _again_.

They get a two bedroom suite overlooking a piazza with an intricately sculpted fountain at the center. Luke’s throwing the windows open in a heartbeat to let the fresh air filter in. Everything on the planet has a sweet floral scent. Compared to the miserable dank marshlands and arid plateaus, Bimmiel feels like a dream.

It’s not a vacation though. Every day they rise with the sun, rush through their morning routine and are navigating the speeder out of the city before the dew’s cleared. It’s not the hardest work they’ve had, but it’s still enough to leave them exhausted. The temperatures are just on the uncomfortable side of hot, and they don’t get back into the city till late at night. They can do little more than stumble home, eat something, and fall into bed only to do the whole thing over again in the morning. Sometimes they’ll watch the holonet for a bit, but after Luke fell asleep _on_ Han he’s started skipping that part. Not like there’s anything interesting to hear about anyway.

After twelve straight days of exhausting work, Han calls for a time out. Surprisingly, Luke concedes. Two days off to rest and recharge, that’s it. But it’s good enough. And Han figures that if he wasn’t here Luke wouldn’t have taken a moment off at all. He counts that as a victory and chalks it up to being a good influence. The first day they head out into the city to eat and explore. The food is just as floral and vegetative as the rest of the planet, which doesn’t enthuse Han the same way it does Luke. They buy a few native fruits at the open air market and take them to a lush parkette to enjoy. The sun is high and bright overhead and Luke is smiling and happy and it makes Han happy, too. He tries his best to hide it but sometimes the laughter just bubbles out before he can stop it.

Luke’s struggling with one of the fruits they bought. The outer skin is dark purple, leathery in texture and tough to break. It takes a while before Luke finds the seam. He presses his thumbs into it and the bright juice comes rushing out, coating his fingers and running down his wrists. He drops the fruit into the grass before it can gush further and brings his wrist to his mouth. Han’s definitely not laughing anymore because as Luke’s pink tongue comes out to drag up his arm, he’s looking Han dead in the eye. Unblinking. His mouth follows the path of the juice, over the swell of his palm and up to his index and middle finger. In a deliberate show, he swipes his tongue up them, and then takes both all the way into his mouth. Of course, the only thing running through Han’s head right now is what he’d like to replace those fingers with. He knows he’s staring at Luke’s lips, where they’re wrapped around his digits, but isn’t that Luke’s intention with the whole thing? Han should really look away. He really, _really_ should.

Luke makes a low, satisfied humming sound before pulling his fingers from his mouth.

“Tasty.” He says, holding out his other hand—still covered in magenta-colored juice. “Would you like to try?”

Han wonders if he should put his foot down and retreat. He’s done it enough times with Luke’s newfound propensity for making him uncomfortable. But that tactic hasn’t really worked as of yet. Luke just keeps on goading, and Han is starting to get frustrated. Seeing Luke’s lips wrapped so scandalously around the width of his fingers may have been the trigger, but it’s well past time Han called his bluff.

He doesn’t respond. Instead he holds Luke’s gaze as he grabs the juice covered hand—his real one—and drags his tongue up the wrist onto the swell of his palm. He tastes the sweetness of the fruit and beneath it, the salt of Luke’s skin. Han doesn’t go as far as to take Luke’s fingers into his mouth, but he lets his tongue drag up between them, all the while staring into Luke’s eyes. And ' _interesting._ ’ Han thinks, because he can actually see the way Luke’s pupils blow out, even in the bright daylight. Beneath his tan there’s a hint of pink on his cheeks. ’Very interesting.’ And then Han drops Luke’s hand and passes a tongue over his lips.

“You’re right. Very tasty.” He says. Luke actually sputters out a response, then looks quickly away. Han leans back onto his arms and savors the fact that he’s finally managed to be the one to make Luke lose his cool.

Later on they grab a small dinner to go from a street vendor and get home as the sun is setting. Luke scurries off to shower, so Han throws himself down on the couch for a nap. When he wakes up again it’s pitch dark outside and the light in the suite is dim. Luke’s above him, murmuring something he can’t quite make out as he wakes. He feels a soft hand on the side of his face, thumb shifting over the skin of his cheek. Han lets his eyes drift close again and makes a satisfied hum.

“Han, come on.” Luke tries again. “You’ll ruin your back sleeping out here.”

“No I won’t.” Han mumbles.

“You will. Come on. Up.”

Han relents, because when Luke gets like this it’s hard to win. He lets Luke hoist him upright and then guide him to his room. Han’s really tired so he can’t fully appreciate the way Luke edges Han’s shoes off for him, but he’ll dwell on the feeling of Luke’s hand on his face while he drifts off. And tomorrow he'll question whether the goodnight kiss Luke presses to his lips was reality or dream.

Han wakes up with the sun.

He was hoping to snag an extra hour of sleep but probably shot himself in the foot by passing out so early on the couch. He wanders into the kitchen (empty) to fix himself a mug of kaff (delicious) and plops himself down at the kitchen table to scroll through his data pad. The sun is starting to crest, and their unit takes the brunt of daylight since it faces south. It doesn’t take long for the unit to warm up, too. 

By eleven, Luke still hasn’t woken up. Which is strange because Luke _never_ sleeps in. Han figures he must have finally hit a wall after over a year of relentless work with minimal time off. He’ll leave Luke be for now.

Except that another hour ticks by, then another, and Luke is _still_ sleeping. Han starts to get worried. It’s probably irrational but he can’t help it. Whenever Luke is concerned he turns into a doting bundle of nerves. After twenty minutes of back and forth, Han finally gets up.

First he levels a tentative knock on Luke’s door, to be polite. He doesn’t get a response, so he presses his ear to it to see if he can hear anything. He can’t. So he knocks again. Still no response. His gut churns in that awful way it does whenever Han is nervous or worried about something that isn’t his own hide. Finally, he presses the door release. It whirrs quietly open and he steps in.

It’s bright. The whole room is flooded with daylight. Luke left the blinds open so it’s spilling in unhindered. That’s not the remarkable thing, though. Or at least, not the first thing Han notices.

No. The first thing Han notices is Luke, sprawled out on his bed, half on his belly. It’s notable for two reasons. One being that the room is very hot and therefore Luke’s shucked the covers off of him so that the sheet lays tangled around his feet. 

Two being that Luke Skywalker: hero of the Rebellion, vanquisher of the Empire, last of the Jedi, apparently likes to sleep naked.

Han’s frozen to the spot. His tongue feels like a hunk of lead in his mouth. He’d been prepared for any set of realities from Luke having snuck out through his window in the night to having to administer CPR. He hadn’t prepared for the image of Luke sprawled out on the sheets with one of his legs angled up like he’d started curling inward and given up. He certainly hadn’t prepared for the image of Luke’s tight, pert rear spread like some carnal temptation out of a porn holo. Han feels like he’s about to pass out because every ounce of blood just vacated his brain to rush straight to his dick. Luke’s hole is _right there_ , ass bared like a feast and it's _calling_ to him. Han wants, more than he’s ever wanted before. That flame inside him roils like it’s had fuel poured onto it, coursing through his veins like an inferno.

Han doesn’t register crossing the room or sidling onto the bed till he’s got both hands running up the length of Luke’s legs to grab at his ass. _’Stars,'_ he thinks. 'He’s so knifing soft.' Which is a nice sentiment, but if Han is going to touch, he’s going to _touch_. He sinks his fingers into Luke’s asscheeks and spreads them a little more. Then he’s lowering his mouth and licking a stripe all the way up from Luke’s perineum. 

Surprisingly, Luke doesn’t wake. He makes a little huffing sound, and his hips cant a bit at the contact, but then he grows still again. Han takes this as an opportunity to lick around Luke’s rim, relishing the feeling as it twitches beneath his tongue. His hands don’t hold back, either, feeling Luke’s rear up the way they’ve always itched to. Further up the bed, Luke’s sleep-breathing hitches a bit, lungs working to draw more air in, but he still doesn’t. Han draws out the teasing licks, doesn’t rush through his concerted groping. He relishes the drag of his stubbled jaw when it skims across the smooth skin of Luke’s cheeks. Each time he does something Luke likes, the soft hitch of breath he receives in response goes straight to his cock. 

Han slides a hand down to cradle Luke’s balls in his palm. He lets the thumb still holding Luke’s rear dip inwards to tug at Luke’s hole so Han can slide his tongue inside with little effort. This time it draws a tangible sound from Luke, who lets out a beautiful sigh. He tilts his hips up into Han’s face looking for more. 

Han obliges. He fucks Luke with his tongue, letting his thumb slip in alongside when Luke’s hips arch even further upwards. Almost every one of Luke’s inward breaths is catching in his throat now, and each one is going straight to Han’s groin. Instead of offering himself any relief, though, he slides his hand forward to circle around Luke’s cock. 

He feels Luke wake, more around his tongue and thumb than anywhere else. Then Luke’s sleep soft voice, marred by arousal:

“Han?” He moans.

Han’s mouth is busy so he just makes a satisfied hum (not unlike the one Luke made while licking up that fruit juice yesterday) to accompany the vulgar, wet sounds he’s responsible for. His affirmative causes Luke’s cock to twitch in his hand. Han gathers the precome beading out the tip and rubs it into the velvety skin.

“Stars Han, don’t stop.” Luke groans, pressing back to Han’s mouth. Han can feel Luke’s thighs tense and trembling. If he had known that eating Luke out would cause him to fall apart so beautifully, maybe Han would have gambled it earlier. Part of him wants to drag Luke on top of him, ease those narrow hips over his face so Luke can take what he wants. Han can’t help but moan at the thought, burying himself deeper. If he suffocates, at least he’ll die happy.

Before air becomes a concern, Luke lets out a hoarse cry. Between the sensation of Han’s thumb and mouth teasing his hole, and the hand jerking him off, Luke has nowhere else to go but over the edge. Han gets only a second of warning, Luke’s entire body growing tense, before he comes. Luke's orgasm tears through his body, making him tremble and quake. Han feels the pulse of Luke’s release, first around his tongue and then echoed in his fist. He lets Luke ride it out, each pretty sound he makes going straight to his cock, which by now is on the precipice of painful. With one last shudder, Luke drops flat onto the bed, smearing his own seed across his chest and stomach. 

Han backs up a bit, taking in the damage. Luke’s ass is bright red where Han’s coarse jaw has left the skin hot. His hole, still pulsing, is drenched with spit. Han presses the heel of his palm against his straining erection and can’t help the hiss that escapes between his teeth. Luke looks over his shoulder at him.

“If I knew all I had to do was sleep in to get you to fuck me, I would have done it earlier.” He says, wearing that salacious half grin and _stars_ its taking all of Han’s willpower not to take him right this second. Instead, Han brings his free hand up and levels a half-playful smack against the flesh of Luke’s rear.

Luke lets out a sound halfway between a hiss and a sigh, hips canting upwards as if asking for more. Han’s about to lose his mind. With one hand he levels another open-palmed smack, reveling in the give of Luke’s now-reddening flesh. The other struggles to unclasp his pants and free himself. He only gets as far as pulling the zipper down when Luke flips around and _tosses_ Han onto his back. 

He watches as Luke hops off the bed to grab something out of his bag and takes the opportunity to shimmy his pants off. When Luke returns, it’s to Han fully naked and stroking his aching cock. He watches as Luke’s eyes lock onto it, pupils blowing wide again. He’s halfway back to hard now, too. Han has to wonder if it’s Luke's youth or instead some sort of Jedi thing—this short refractory period.

Luke eases himself over Han, a knee on either side of his hips. He has a bottle of lube in his hand and drizzles some of it onto his fingers, and then onto Han’s cock. Han wastes no time spreading the viscous liquid over his shaft, but keeps his eyes fixed on where Luke has leaned back to finger himself. Han doubts he’s going to last long. Seeing Luke, braced above him with all of his muscles tense and taut, reaching back to open himself up, is almost too much. He’s entertained a similar image in far too many late night fantasies. But those conjurations cannot begin to compare to the reality. Han’s cock is leaking something fierce and he’s scared he might blow before he even gets inside. He eases off, running his hands up the length of Luke’s thighs as he reels himself back a bit.

“Hells, Luke,” Han murmurs, reveling in the soft, hot skin beneath his palms. He can’t help the words that come out. “you look so good like this.”

Somehow despite all the bravado and confidence Luke’s shown up to this point, Han's reverence is what draws a proper blush from him. He meets Han’s eyes, only for a moment, and then looks away as if embarrassed. Strange, that he could be so casual about his body until appreciated. Han drifts one of his hands towards Luke’s cock and circles it, eager for the feeling of heated skin and the sound that his touch draws.

He watches intently, Luke above him. His eyes are closed and mouth open. His thick lashes fan across the ridge of his cheekbones. From below, the curve of his upper lip is revealed, full and red around the breaths spilling from his mouth. The image of Luke like this, unbidden, is like a secret. One Han intends to treasure. He could spend days like this, drawing pleasure from Luke in every conceivable way, happy to observe. He wants to learn Luke’s body, to map each inch of skin, to learn which places a hunger for touch. He wants to see every expression that Luke can make, to try every combination of fingertips and palms and mouth with which to coax them out.

Han is so lost in admiring Luke, particularly his face, that when Luke has finally pulled his fingers free and shimmied forward, it comes as a surprise. He can’t hold back the startled, desperate gasp when Luke grabs Han's now-neglected erection, and lines it up. There’s a moment of tension, both of them taut with anticipation, and then Luke is easing himself down with an agonizing slowness. Han can’t help it, he slides the hand on Luke’s cock down to cup his balls, lifting them enough so that he can watch himself disappearing into Luke’s body. He likes it enough that he can feel his dick give a valiant twitch, and Luke must feel it too because he bites his lip bashfully. He takes the last inch of Han, and then he's fully seated in the cradle of Han's hips. He's grateful for the languidness of their coupling. Han’s teetered on the edge of ‘too-close-for-comfort’ just long enough that he fears it’ll be over far too quickly. 

Luke moves his hips, slowly, without urgency. It’s experimental, figuring out the way to best move to draw pleasure from them both. His eyes are locked onto Han’s now, as if their shared gaze is all that encourages his movement. Han traces the path of Luke’s tongue as it darts out to wet his lip. A pang in his stomach, like that of hunger, comes with the realization that they haven’t yet kissed.

It is a problem Han wishes to rectify immediately. As Luke continues riding Han’s cock at an experimental pace, Han brings a hand up to cradle Luke’s cheek. The skin beneath his fingertips is soft, but there’s the ghost of roughness along his jaw. Luke had once been smooth-skinned and boyish, when they had first met, and the texture of his face serves as a reminder of the years that have passed between them. Luke’s eyes hold a question as Han regards them, but Han does not answer. Instead he draws Luke down slowly and into a gentle kiss.

It’s sweet and soft. Han tries to convey the years of affection, admiration, love that he’s felt for Luke into it. When he angles Luke’s head with the intention of deepening the kiss, he doesn’t rush it either. It’s slow and searching. He drinks in the taste of Luke’s mouth, hot, velvety and a mixture of sweet and stale from sleep. He takes his time to roll their tongues together, to savour the generous swell of Luke’s upper lip. He pours as much appreciation for everything that Luke was, is, and will be, into the kiss, because a kiss will not fail him in the same way that words will.

He knows the exact moment that Luke learns what meaning lies behind that kiss. A hand flies up to mirror Han’s hold on his cheek, and the prettiest sound—halfway between a gasp of recognition and the keening of desire—echoes somewhere high in Luke’s throat. It is then that the kiss becomes hungry, Luke pressing forward with every inch of himself, to seek out each corner of Han’s being—to take. His whole body undulates like the insistence of waves coming in for the tide, smooth motions claiming Han’s pleasure and taste. It builds between them both until Han finds himself crossing a threshold from which there is no returning. He knows Luke is close, too. Those same sounds from before building upon each other. They break their kiss as Han plants his feet on the bed and grips Luke’s hips with both hands. Luke relents, and eases himself back upright so that Han can fuck into him as deeply as possible. It doesn’t take long from there. Han’s focused on hitting a spot within Luke that renders him incoherent. Each thrust is blinding in its hunger. To seal it, Luke drops his hand to his cock, fists himself, and with a few harsh strokes he comes.

If feeling Luke come around his tongue had been glorious, watching from below as climax overtakes him is divine. Han can't help but trace each line of tension in his body, the way the light catches on the sweat that gathers along every ridge and plane. Luke opens his eyes, brings his near-delirious gaze downwards to look at Han as he rides through his orgasm. Han can feel it against his body, too, the way Luke’s thighs tense around his hips, the spurts of hot seed that fall upon his chest and belly, and the rhythmic clench of inner walls against his cock. It draws him over the edge in answer. He drives his hips up a final few times and lets go. It’s blinding. The edge of his vision grows white, so he screws his eyes shut to process it. His hands grip Luke’s hips with bruising strength as he empties himself into the supple body above him. On and on, the waves of bliss crash over him like a storm, until they ebb to a dull humming pleasure. Luke drops forward and places a chaste, teasing kiss on Han’s mouth.

“I hope you’ll wake me up like this every day.” Luke murmurs. Han lifts his hand to brush damp hair away from Luke’s eyes. They’re sparkling with equal parts delight and exhaustion. Han would wake Luke up like this every day, should have been for years now. His heart clenches when he thinks about the time wasted, lost to them, as time often is.

“I will, if you’ll have me.”

A bright smile is his only response. Luke eases himself off, and Han hisses as the now-cold air sweeps across his softened penis. He pulls the thin sheet up over them, if only so that the circulated air doesn’t cling to their damp, sticky bodies. Luke’s laying on his side, looking at him. Han turns to face him, growing serious.

“Y'know.” Han says. “It isn’t just about fun for me”

Beneath the surface, the words carry a second meaning. One Han is too much of a coward to say. ‘ _I love you_ ’. Luke gives him a soft smile, brings a hand to stroke along the side of his face and then smooth over his messy hair.

“I know.” Luke says. Han’s heart clenches. Luke’s words carry within them an unspoken answer. _I love you, too._

Han places a hand over top Luke’s and turns his head to plant a kiss on his palm. It’s a testament to how complete and unwavering his love for Luke is, that he can toe the line between carnal animalism to pliant, unending tenderness. He has never felt like this before. Knows he will never feel it again. Luke’s mere existence dictates every thought, every action within Han. He is a supplicant before Luke. Han would worship at his altar with the fastidiousness of a devout. 

The feeling is too much, he feels the blood within him boiling over, swelling in his tissue. He closes his eyes and hums, hoping to dispel its intensity.

“So all this flirting?” Han says finally, breaking the silence and easing the tension within him. “An act to push me past my breaking point?”

Luke lets out a soft laugh. 

“A bit, maybe.” Luke says. “I don’t think whatever I was doing on Hoth was working. You know, you can be awfully dense sometimes.”

“I don’t remember you doin’ much of anything on Hoth.”

“No. I suppose not.” Luke replies, though his voice is tinged with mirth. “I was scared back then. Scared now. You hold some cards very close to your chest, Han. I never knew with you. And then you and Leia—“

“It was always you.” Han says, cutting Luke off. He's throwing his cards down on the table, and yet he can’t find it in himself to stop. “ With you, it hurt. Leia was there, I guess. I loved her, too, in a way. But none of that could distract from you. But you never—I had to make peace with it. Just being around you was and will always be enough, Luke.”

“I know now.” Luke whispers. “I was so scared to lose you, and then when I did lose you, I thought I had to lock all of it away. It wasn’t until I left Coruscant that first time that I learned to embrace fear.”

He pauses for a moment, gaze searching. Beneath his skin crawls a nervousness. Han seeks out Luke’s hand, taking it between his in encouragement. Luke draws in another breath before he continues.

“Other people taught me, too. I had so much guidance from strangers who became friends and mentors. And it felt _good_. Freeing, really. Before—after Bespin, I became what I thought a Jedi must become, what Ben and Yoda had insinuated the Order to be. But it was never about that. So many people I met who live their lives as Force-sensitives taught me that it isn’t about mastery over oneself, but sometimes about giving in to the Force and trusting it.”

He chews his lip thoughtfully and Han strokes his thumb across the ridges of Luke’s knuckles. The skin is soft and warm despite the machinery that hums beneath. Han loves every part of him. Even this.

“I learned a lot while I was away. I met a lot of people, got to know some of them more intimately than others. For a while that was enough. It wasn’t until I had a close brush that I thought on what I had left behind.” Luke continues. The words are coming from him unhindered now. Each divulgence sending warmth into his veins. "Not to say that I didn’t think of you often, I did, every day. But you were with Leia, and I had accepted my place. So it took staring death in the face again to wake me up. It’s hard to live with a secret like that when you realize just how quickly your life can be cut short.”

Luke pauses again to bring his hand up to Han’s hair. His fingers run through Han’s hair in slow strokes, catching in a few errant tangles. His scalp tingles at the sensation, and the knowledge that the intimate touches form a sort of comfort for Luke.

“When I came back and Leia told me that you two had—,” Luke starts. He draws in a rattling breath. “I didn’t dare let myself hope. But when I saw you for the first time it was impossible to stave off. Han, you don’t even know it, but you look at me in this particular way, and I hadn’t recognized it for what it was on Hoth. I remember seeing it, but not understanding, when we parted. But when I saw it again, I hoped. Very much.”

“But what was with the raucous flirting? Hell, remember that barkeep on Bestine?”

Luke actually blushes at this, all the way to the tips of his ears. Han loves it, the self-consciousness. wonders if beneath all the goading and teasing that had been his goal all along. To draw that sweet, bashful Luke out.

“I don’t know. It was something that just, happened? I picked up on some of that, _behavior_ while traveling. But when I came back it was so easy to fall back into the teasing and bickering with you. I couldn’t help let it slip in. But the more I did it the less you reacted. I wondered for a while if I’d read you wrong, but with anything else you were just as explosive as ever.”

“It’s cause you make me nervous, Luke. Just about the only thing that can do that to me, y’know?”

At this he draws Luke into a gentle, searching kiss. There's no heat behind it. It’s simply an exertion of the power and knowledge that Han can do this now, is allowed to. He curls his hand around Luke’s wrist, memorizing the way each solid ridge fits into his palm.

“Wound me up real, good, too.” Han says when he pulls back. “I don’t know who taught you to be such a tease, but you’ve certainly mastered it. I’m surprised I didn’t break earlier.”

“It’s half the fun, though.” Luke laughs. “But I’m glad it ended up like this. I don’t think I would expect you to try anything new and frightening if you weren’t charging into it head first.”

“Literally.” Han says. His hand goes down to grip Luke’s ass. Another thing he’ll relish because he can now. His reward is peel of laughter. Han lets his gaze linger on Luke’s face. The way the corners of his eyes crinkle, the stretch of his lips as they reveal his cunning teeth, the creases at the corner of his mouth that appear every time he smiles. 

“What’re we gonna tell Leia when we get back to Coruscant?” Han says. “Few secrets are safe from that woman.”

“She knows.” Luke says, finally sobering. “About me at least. Certainly knew as soon as I asked after you. She encouraged me, you know? Told me that you deserved to be happy, since you hadn’t been in a long while.”

The words bring forth a measure of sadness and guilt.Though Luke guesses it was only about him, he knows from her encouragement that she had known about Han too. He cringes at it: that he had seemingly used Leia, when she had known all along that a torch within him burned for Luke—her brother. And yet despite it, though she had been aware of it, they still maintained their friendship. It feels traitorous, in retrospect. But she had not seen it so. Instead she had encouraged it, had actually desired his happiness. 

What a wonderful woman, Han thinks, to be so selfless despite the hurt.

They lay together in bed, dozing off periodically, rising eventually to shower and eat. Every mundane task becomes new again. Han’s awareness of Luke’s presence seems to increase tenfold. Navigating around each other in the kitchen, brushing their teeth, walking side by side without speaking, normally unremarkable events suddenly feel memorable. Everything is charged with a new awareness. Han has never felt as present as he does now, with Luke at his side.

But it’s also hard to keep his hands to himself, not when he’s _allowed_ to touch. And he does, frequently. It’s not out of a sense of ownership, but just something that comes to him naturally. No matter how many times he runs his hand along the span of Luke’s neck or the swell of his bicep, each touch feels as new as the first. It’s an addictive sensation, and he _craves_. Luke craves, too. He arches into every touch, every point of contact, and answers in kind, as well. There’s a simplicity to it that is undeniably perfect. Their want is symmetrical. Push and pull. Steady like the tide.

Eventually they leave Bimmiel, and continue on. The work doesn’t change much, they’re still living and learning each experience as it comes and goes. But the mud and the insects and the injuries are easier to get through with the invisible currents running between them. No gash is too inconvenient when Luke cleans and mends it, pressing gentle kisses to the fevered skin around it. No locale is too remote or too desolate or too perilous when he has the knowledge that Luke will answer any threat with the same fierce protectiveness Han harbors within himself. The two of them, together, wherever they are, is enough.

When they return to Coruscant after seven months, Leia greets them on the landing pad. She knows immediately, though how, Han isn’t sure. Her intuition has always been dagger-sharp, and it doesn’t fail her now. She embraces them both, pressing kisses to their cheeks, and ushering them to her speeder. Over dinner and a bottle of wine that night, they catch up. Luke is recounting the time they’d had to scale a mountain, only to turn back half way when they realized they hadn’t the proper equipment. Leia listens attentively, the way she does, but every so often will turn to Han and give him this look. It’s a look that speaks volumes. It tells Han that she’s happy for him, that he deserves this, that whatever he and Luke have is special. Beneath it is some measure of hurt, small and nearly imperceptible. Han cannot fault her, feels some guilt, too. To have loved someone fiercely, and to see all along that they were not yours, is the definition of pain. He hopes that it will ease for her soon.

The hour grows late, but Han can’t find it in himself to feel tired. For once, he doesn’t speak much at all. He drinks in the wine, and savors the familiarity of the voices of two of the people he holds closest. There is no plan, at least not for himself and Luke. It’s the sort of uncertainty that Han has had to live with his entire life, has had to adapt to. But there is a difference here that had not existed before. He looks between the two. First to Leia, whose soft, round features, warm brown eyes and even warmer smile send a flush of affection through him. He will always love her. Not in the way she would wish from him, but in one that’s wholly unbreakable. Then to Luke, who is at times, so much like his sister and at others, so vastly different. There is certainty there. Certainty that Han will always love Luke in the burning, soul-rending way. Would have loved him that way even if his feelings were never returned.

There was a time once when Han relied only on himself and that core instinct to _survive_. There was nothing more to it than that. He thinks back to those days, what feel like a lifetime ago. He knows now that it has changed. Uncertainty will still dictate his life, but now he has people he can rely on. Something he’s never had before: a family. And that, in and of itself perhaps, is an adaptation, too.


End file.
